


Justice is a Fading Light

by happyevraftr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Language, Feelings, Happy Ending, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mild torture, Self-Loathing, they'll get there eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyevraftr/pseuds/happyevraftr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Argent is a werewolf hunter for one and only one reason: to find and destroy the monster that killed his mother. He knows it has something to do with Derek Hale and he’s not going to stop until he finds the truth.</p><p>Alternate AU Hunter!Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justice is a Fading Light

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Teen Wolf Reverse BB
> 
> Artist: artylicious94  
> Art Link: [Here](http://artylicious94.livejournal.com/1674.html)
> 
> (Please leave all comment on the artwork at that link so she gets all the praise she deserves!! The original video which was the prompt for this story can be seen there.)
> 
> To the_sentinel95: Thank you so much for all your help on this fic. You gave me the kick in the butt to fix the things I know needed it- but wasn’t sure how to do. You’re the best!
> 
> To artylicious94: To put it quite simply- you are ridiculously amazing. From the first time I watched your video I was in awe of it. The feelings and story that is so vividly told in such a short amount of time is incredible. I’ve watched it over and over again while writing this story and it just get’s better every time.
> 
> While real life has consistently stolen me away, and I’m sure I worried you on more than one occasion, I have never stopped adoring this story. Thank you for being patient with me, thank you for all the extra artwork that makes this even that much more fantastic and thank you for just being kickass in general. I’ve truly enjoyed working with you!

 

_Stiles can’t sleep. There’s a branch outside his window banging against the glass, casting eerie shadows across his room. It seems extra dark tonight. He’s spent too much time reading his daddy’s books and looking at the scary monster pictures and now he’s scared they’re going to crawl out from under his bed and eat him.  
  
Part of him really wants to run to his mom’s bed and snuggle into her side, safe and sound, but he’s a big boy now. He turned five last week and he’s not going to be a scaredy cat. Daddy tells him he has to be strong and he’s going to make him proud.  
  
Something crashes down the hallway and he jumps in surprise.  
  
‘What was that?’ he thinks, pulling the blanket all the way up to his chin. He holds Pete the dinosaur tight to his chest and remains perfectly still as his heart thumps wildly. Another crash sounds and he hears his mother cry out.  
  
“Mommy?” Stiles whispers and sits up quickly.  
  
He’s terrified. Each breath comes in raspy, shallow gasps. He bites his lip and stares at the closed door, worried for his mom.  
  
Another loud bang sounds from the kitchen and Stiles swings his legs off the bed and jumps down. The hardwood floor is cold against his bare feet and the air is freezing without the warmth from his covers. He clutches Pete like a lifeline as he slowly tip-toes to his bedroom door.  
  
He stares at the door handle for a long time. There could be a monster on the other side. What if it gets him? Taking a deep breath, he reaches a shaking hand towards the door and slowly turns the handle.  
  
The next minutes pass in a blur. Specific shapes and sounds evade him, everything fading together in a haze. One of the monsters from Daddy’s books is in the hallway, showing his teeth just like the big bad wolf Mommy reads to him. Then the blur is gone and red is everywhere. It’s his favorite color, but it’s bad like this. Very bad.  
  
Somewhere in the background he can hear his father screaming and crying. His mother is lying on the floor and she’s not moving. He doesn’t understand why she won’t get up. Something is wrong. He’s never seen his dad cry, crystal little teardrops sliding down his cheeks, bright red covering his hands.  
  
Daddy’s his hero, he’s supposed to be strong and fearless.  
  
Kneeling down into the puddle of red he reaches for his mom. Dad’s holding her tight in his arms and rocking back and forth. Stiles pats her cheek like he does to wake her up so they can watch Saturday cartoons together, but she still doesn’t open her eyes.  
  
Daddy looks up at him and puts a hand to his cheek, crying even harder. His hand is wet against Stiles face and it smells funny. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong so he sits there quietly with his dad, waiting for mommy to wake up._  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
Stiles startles awake, wetness gathered in the corner of his eyes. Thirteen years later and he still hasn’t gone a single night without reliving his mother’s murder. The pieces of that evening always play in fragments; broken and jagged around the edges. The only things that remain clear are his father's tears and what he knows now was blood.  
  
He shutters and tries to push down the bile that’s crawling up his throat. Stamps it down along with the shame of his uselessness that night, of still not being good enough to capture the monster that took his mother away.  
  
Today’s another day though. Another opportunity to get one step closer to finding the werewolf that tore his family apart.  
  
He pushes off the bed and stands in front of the window, gazing out over the town he’s finally come back to. It had taken him three years to convince his dad that moving back to Beacon Hills was a good idea. It’s all he’s been able to think about since the time he was able to comprehend his mom had been murdered. Every night he dreams of her dying face and every morning he feels the heavy responsibility to avenge her death.  
  
In the end, they had returned because of the mysterious series of deaths that started happening again. The werewolf was back, and Stiles had a gut feeling it was the same scumbag that was responsible for what had happened to his mother.  
  
For the six months they’ve been in town, Stiles has worked tirelessly to find any leads, but the only name that’s turned up is Derek Hale. Between school and magic lessons with Deaton, he spends his time searching the woods for a killer. He’s scoured hundreds of miles, but to no avail.  
  
Today feels different though. There’s a charge in the air as he bounces down the steps and joins his dad for breakfast.  
  
“Morning!” he shouts as he grabs the orange juice from the fridge and takes three big gulps.  
  
“What have I told you about that?” Chris says as he pulls hot toast out of the toaster and flips it onto the waiting plates.  
  
Stiles smiles and tosses the jug over to his dad. “Don’t be greedy.”  
  
“That’s right,” he says and takes a big drink for himself.  
  
They smile at each other and sit down at the table.  
  
“What’s the plan for today?” Chris asks as he opens up the paper.  
  
Stiles stuffs a piece of bacon in his mouth before answering. “Going to Deaton’s this afternoon.”  
  
“You mean you’re going out into the woods again. Stiles,” Chris shakes his head and gives him a withering look. “We’ve talked about this.”  
  
“Derek did it. I know it. You’ve seen the police reports, and the wolfy picture,” Stiles repeats the same argument he’s shared several times.  
  
“There’s no proof he’s spilled human blood,” Chris says adamantly.  
  
“The attacks started again when he came back to town,” he retorts.  
  
“We go by the code.” Chris says with finality.  
  
Which yeah, Stiles understands the code. Any other time he’s right there with his dad, but not in this. When he finds the wolf that took his mother, he’s going to face justice. No questions asked, no second chances.  
  
“I know it has  _something_  to do with Derek,” he says.  
  
“Maybe,” Chris counters with a shrug, peering at him over his coffee cup.  
  
Stiles lets the conversation drop because no one ever wins this argument and he doesn’t like getting into it with his dad. They depend on each other as hunters and family. They’re all they have left and it’s not worth it to argue over how to find Victoria’s killer. They both want the same thing, they just have different ways of going about it.  
  
“What are you doing today?” he asks as he spreads jelly over his toast.  
  
“Trying to figure out who the beta is. I think it might be that Jackson kid,” Chris says thoughtfully.  
  
“That wouldn’t surprise me. He’s a bit of a jackass.”  
  
“Language.” Chris throws a piece of bacon at him and narrows his eyes.  
  
“I’m just saying. He’s aggressive, haughty, and power hungry. Fits the werewolf description,” Stiles says with a shrug.  
  
“We’ll see.” Chris polishes off the last of his food, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “Be safe today, kiddo.” He stands and ruffles Stiles’ hair before going to the kitchen and depositing the dishes in the sink.  
  
“You too, dad,” Stiles says with a smile.  
  
Their deal is that Chris cooks and Stiles cleans, so he rushes to put away the dishes and puts up the toaster before running upstairs to get ready. It’s going to be a great day. He can feel it in his bones.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
“Show me a tracking spell,” Stiles asks for the millionth time.  
  
“No,” Deaton says as per usual. “You will use it for nefarious purposes and I don’t want to suffer your father’s wrath.”  
  
“So don’t tell him!” Stiles whines.  
  
“Since when are you lying to him?” Deaton asks with an appraising gaze.  
  
“Aw, don’t you know me? My pants are constantly on fire,” he says with a bonus roll of the eyes. “I’ll be back in a few hours, no thanks to all that magic you’ve not been teaching me!” He traipses out of the office and out to Jeep, affectionately named Stella.. He’s scoured a good portion of the land, but there’s still so much to cover. It could take him months, even  _years_  to find someone in the heavy brush. Like looking for a needle in a haystack.  
  
He drives Stella deep into the forest, following his map until he’s at the edge of his last checkpoint. Sighing in resignation, he puts his baby in park and steps out. The earlier optimism dissipates at the harsh reality of the forest staring him in the face.  
  
Compass in hand and backpack of supplies draped over his shoulder he starts off. He covers the square of area by zig zagging back and forth, back and forth. It’s extremely tedious and pushes him to the brink of his patience, but it must be done.  
  
Two hours into the woods and he’s covered in sweat, dirt, and leaves. He’s already tired of hacking away with his machete, so he’s put it away and simply shields his face with a hand as he pushes through the thicker parts of the underbrush.  
  
Eventually, there’s a break in the trees and everything thins out until Stiles finds himself in a clearing. He looks at the map and then looks around. Either he’s lost (which is unlikely because he’s ace like that), or this place isn’t marked at all.  
  
Promising.  
  
Sticking close to the forests’ edge, he creeps further in until he comes to an abandoned train station.  
  
The next few moments seem to play in slow motion as the one and only Derek Hale emerges from the building. Stiles’ heart jumps in his throat and he quickly pulls back into the shadows. He watches him for several long minutes as Derek stretches and surveys the clearing.  
  
Stiles is thankful he got lucky and there’s not much of a breeze tonight. His scent shouldn’t carry too far. After Derek goes back inside Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and darts back to his Jeep. It takes him a solid twenty minutes of hard running before he finally gets back to Stella, and then he’s racing out of the woods  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
“I’ve found him! I’ve found him, Deaton!!”  
  
Deaton pops his head around the corner and raises his eyebrows. “Where?”  
  
Stiles doesn’t stop moving as he races past him and into the private office. Throwing the map over the table he crosses off the places that were unsuccessful and then circles one small patch of land. “Here. There’s an abandoned subway station he’s hiding out in. I didn’t get close, I needed to get some stuff ready first.”  
  
“I can’t believe you’ve found him.” Deaton says as he rubs his fingers over the marked spot of the map.  
  
“I can’t either. I’ve got to get some stuff ready, but when I come back I need a little mojo to help me knock him out, ok?”  
  
“Yeah sure.” Deaton says as he starts to rummage through his cabinet labeled,  
  
 **“KEEP OUT. THIS MEANS YOU, STILES.”**  
  
He honestly has no idea why Deaton thought that was necessary. He doesn’t know a whole lot about magic yet, but supposedly he has ‘the spark’. Unfortunately that doesn’t mean jack squat since Deaton is mysterious as fuck and hasn’t really taught him a whole lot to date.  
  
He leaves Deaton to it and drives over to the old burnt down Hale house. There’s not a lot of it left, but he thinks it fitting that Derek die where the rest of his family did.  
  
First, he drags the silver chains from the back of Stella and hauls them down into the cellar. He would have set this up ages ago, but he was afraid Derek or a random passerby would stumble across his equipment, and then where would he be?  
  
He was fairly certain he could only get away with explaining their sudden disappearance once before his dad started asking questions and he’d be in trouble.  
  
After he gets the restraints rigged up, he hauls in the generator his grandfather gave him specifically for this purpose. He’s going to make the werewolf talk before he dies. He wants to know  _why_. Why Derek had to take his mother’s life like that. The Argent family had never done anything against the code before. They’d never hurt the Hale family or any werewolf that hadn’t deserved it.  
  
He examines his work and nods in satisfaction. He’s actually going to do this. His hands shake a little with the adrenaline and anticipation. There’s a part of him that worries he’s still not strong enough, just like the night his mom was murdered. Worried that he won’t be able to do anything. Won’t be able to find the truth or exact judgment.  
  
He takes a deep breath and puts the thought out of his mind. There’s no choice here. He must avenge his mother’s death. He’s going to make her proud.  
  
With one last scan of the makeshift prison he nods and hurries back up the steps.  
  
He can do this.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
It’s dusk before he makes it back into the clearing. Deaton gave him some purple fairy dust (well, he didn’t  _say_  it was fairy dust, but Stiles assumes) and all he has to do is get close enough to blow it in Derek’s face without getting his own face clawed off.  
  
Should be easy.  
  
As he creeps towards the train station his stomach gathers in a tight knot, heart races and his skin slickens with nervous sweat. He’s trained for this moment since he was six years old, and now that it’s finally come, he realizes he’s not ready. Not at all. He never will be.  
  
The weight of his crossbow on his back and the vial of magic in his hands calms him. The picture of his mother’s dying face steadies him.  
  
He will succeed or die trying.  
  
For her.  
  
He’s never been graceful. When his dad tried to teach him tracking and stealth it usually ended in Chris shaking his head and chuckling. He’d tell Stiles that he sounded like a bear running through the woods. Then he’d make him do everything again. Now, he’s thankful for the endless drills and training.  
  
It’s only because of his dad’s stringent work ethic that Stiles manages to crawl inside the train station without making a sound. He slinks around the open room until something stirs inside one of the old train cars.  
  
He freezes and listens intently. Someone’s definitely in there. As quietly as possible he pops the cap off the vial and puts the lid in his pocket. Just as Derek steps into the open Stiles empties the powder into his hand.  
  
“Derek,” he says to get his attention.  
  
Derek stares at him in bewilderment for a minute and Stiles doesn’t give him a chance to respond. He steps forward and blows the fairy dust into his face. It takes off from his palm and floats through the air, a fine sheen of purple mist cascading between them. Derek looks thoroughly confused and then very, very angry. Blue glints in his eyes before he falls to the ground with a loud thump that resounds throughout the train station.  
  
Stiles just stares at him for a while.  
  
Stares and stares.  
  
This is it. This is the man that took everything from him. The reason why he can’t sleep at night, why his dad drinks too much sometimes, why he never knew what it was like to have a mother; a whole family.  
  
Stiles looks down at his hands. They’re shaking. He takes a deep breath and tries to steady them to no avail. He feels raw and exposed around the edges, like the end of a sparking electrical wire.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
Stiles drags Derek across the cold cement floor of the cellar by the cuff of his jacket. He’s a heavy mass of solid muscles and it takes all of Stiles strength to move him even the tiniest bit. It’s been a grueling two hours of rolling him around and tugging him here and there. Stiles’ skin is flushed, he’s covered in dirt from head to toe, and he’s drenched in sweat.  
  
It takes the last of his reserves to wrap the silver coated chains around Derek’s wrists and hoist him up until he’s hanging from the ceiling.  
  
  


  
When it’s finally done Stiles sags against a support beam and attempts to catch his breath. His arms and legs feel wobbly as he stands there, shaking. His body is overexerted and exhaustion is quickly overtaking him.  
  
Without a second look back he stumbles out to Stella and falls asleep in the drivers seat.  
  
He wakes up three hours later and blinks the sleep from his eyes as he stares out into the night. Derek is being held only a few feet away from him. The thought makes him feel jittery and unhinged all over again. He tries to imagine shoving a dagger through Derek’s heart, but all that does is make him feel sick to his stomach.  
  
Unable to deal with the conflicting emotions the image brings, Stiles turns the ignition and takes a shaky breath as the engine roars to life. He needs a shower and good night’s sleep before he deals with Derek. His dad’s going to start to worry if he doesn’t get home soon anyways. With one last look towards the dilapidated house he peels out of the drive.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
It really shouldn’t be a surprise that Deaton’s stuff is powerful. Where Stiles had been afraid Derek would wake up too fast, he should have been more worried about him ever waking up at all.  
  
Stiles goes to the cellar every day after school only to find Derek still fast asleep. Body sagging against the heavy chains and head hung low. There’s still a steady rise and fall to his chest, so it’s only a matter of time, but time isn’t something Stiles has. With each passing day the idea of hurting someone, inflicting pain and torture on another living thing, is making Stiles sick. He doesn’t want to do this, it’s not who he is, but he  _has_  to. For her.  
  
He feels moody and anxious. Ready to put all of this behind him and move on with his life.  
  
For three days Derek sleeps. Then on the fourth Stiles walks in, expecting to find the same thing, but is instead greeted by bright blue eyes snapping up to meet his own.  
  
“Well don’t you look comfortable, sleeping beauty.” Stiles tamps down the sudden jolt of nerves that hits him.  
  
Derek tracks his every movement, studying him closely. “Who are you?”  
  
“You killed her!” Stiles shouts, because all the planning in the world couldn’t have prepared him for this moment. Couldn’t have steeled him for the reality of being face to face with his mother’s killer. He’s terrified he still doesn’t have what it takes to hurt another person, human or not. He’s angry that this stupid werewolf took so much away from him.  
  
“Who?” Derek asks. Not even having the decency to look even the littlest bit nervous.  
  
“My mother. You took her away from me.” Stiles pulls the gun Deaton gave him from his backpack and raises it until it’s level with Derek’s chest. “You’re going to tell me why.”  
  
Derek looks from the gun to him, then back to the gun. “You have to tell me who you’re talking about.” There’s a little bit more wariness to his voice that satisfies Stiles.  
  
“Victoria Argent.” Her dying face flashes in his mind and his stomach clenches into a tight knot.  
  
For a split second, Derek’s eyes go wide. Then he sags into the chains. “I didn’t kill her.”  
  
“Yes you did! I was there that night. I know you had something to do with it. You’re going to tell me why you killed her. I’ll make you if I have to,” Stiles says as he sits down next to the generator.  
  
Derek narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t say anything else. Just silently stares at him for minutes on end. Like he’s waiting for something. Resolved in his denial of guilt. Stiles breaks his gaze and focuses on the table. Trying to prepare himself for what would inevitably have to happen.  
  
Part of him had hoped Derek would cooperate. Admit to being a young werewolf unable to control his violent side. At least give him some reason as to why he was forced to grow up without a mother.  
  
“I was five when she died.” Stiles says without thinking. “I can’t remember very much about her. Only that she was fierce in a way I could never be. She was a good mother. I know I was happy. Then you came and took all that away from me.”  
  
He pauses long enough to let Derek interject, but he never does so Stiles continues. “My dad told me the truth when I was twelve when I wouldn’t stop asking questions. That night is a little hazy, but I remember seeing a werewolf. I remember watching my mother, ripped to shreds, dying in my father’s arms.”  
  
“It wasn’t me.” Derek says again. Apparently the only words he’s capable of.  
  
“I’ve trained for six years, spent three convincing my dad to come back here. I will avenge her death, no matter what.” No matter the cost to himself, no matter what he has to do. He owes it to her memory, to his family, to give her justice.  
  
As he finishes his speech his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees it’s from his dad.  
  
 **Dad:** _Scott’s the beta. Get home now._  
  
Stiles sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. He likes Scott. They were even starting to be friends. It would explain the sudden popularity and sports mojo he seemed to develop overnight. Stiles should have seen it before.  
  
“I’ve got to go. Maybe if you won’t talk, the other beta will.”  
  
That seems to finally get a reaction out of Derek. He pulls against the chains and snarls, fangs dropping into place and eyes go a supernatural blue. “Leave him out of this. He hasn’t hurt anyone!”  
  
Stiles stands and puts the gun back in the waistband of his jeans. “If that’s true then you know we won’t hurt him. Argents do have a code after all.”  
  
The muscles in Derek’s jaw go tense, but he doesn’t say anything else. Stiles is tempted to stay and force him to talk, but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s relieved his dad interrupted him.  
  
“I’ll be back later tonight.” Stiles pauses in the doorway and looks back. “You might want to find your tongue before then.” The added ‘or else’ goes unspoken.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
As it turns out, Stiles isn’t able to get back to Derek until the next morning. He sits outside the cellar for a minute trying to focus his thoughts and wipe the sleep from his eyes. It had been a long night.  
  
Dealing with Scott had turned out to be much like dealing with a scared rabbit. He obviously has no idea what’s going on and he barely has the werewolf thing under control.  
  
 _“I swear I didn’t hurt anybody!” Scott yells at both of them. He’s strapped down to a chair in their basement with wolfsbane soaked rope. His eyes are wild, looking like a cornered animal that has nowhere to run or hide.  
  
“Tell us what you know about the killings.” Chris says as he slams his fist down on the table.  
  
“I swear I don’t know anything! I got bit in the woods a few weeks ago and my life has been a living nightmare ever since. I don’t know who the Alpha is, but I’m trying to stop him! He wants me to kill all my friends- my mom! Derek’s been helping learn how to control it, but the Alpha keeps forcing me to try and kill with it. That’s everything I know! I promise!”  
  
His dad keeps asking questions after that, but it’s like Scott’s on repeat. Never sharing any new information. _  
  
They had let him go on the promise they would end him if he ever shed human blood. Scott had assured them he wouldn’t and Stiles believed him.  
  
Now he still had the problem of dealing with Derek. There had never been a doubt in Stiles’ mind that he had something to do with his mother’s death, but now he isn’t so sure. It doesn’t make sense that he would help Scott. It doesn’t fit with the serial killer image he’s built up for him in his head.  
  
It’s time he finds out the truth. With renewed purpose he descends the steps. He avoids looking at Derek as he walks across the room and sits down at the table. “We didn’t do anything to Scott.”  
  
From the corner of his eye he sees Derek relax visibly. He cares. That makes things significantly more difficult for Stiles. Perhaps he needs to change the questions he’s asking.  
  
“A werewolf killed my mother. So lets say for a second I believe it wasn’t you. Then who was it?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Not the answer he was looking for.  
  
“Are you just going to talk me to death?” Derek asks.  
  
Stiles clenches his jaw. There’s no proof Derek didn’t kill his mother. Just because he’s helping Scott, it doesn’t mean he’s a good guy.  
  
He reaches towards the generator, but he hesitates. There’s also nothing proving Derek  _did_  kill his mother and he’s doubting himself more than ever. What if he’s innocent? Could Stiles honestly live with himself if he tortured and killed an innocent man- werewolf or not? He knows his mother wouldn’t want this. His father would be disappointed in his blatant lack of respect for the code.  
  
He’s spent so long trying to find Victoria’s killer, he just wants it to be over. Not like this though. This would just haunt him forever.  
  
“I can’t,” Stiles says as he draws his hand back. He moves over to the chains and pulls the key from his pocket. He moves up close to Derek's face and looks him in the eye. "Prove I'm wrong."  
  


  
  
With one final resigned sigh, he undoes the locks and stands back.  
  
“Go.”  
  
Derek looks at him bewildered before nodding and running out the door.  
  
There’s still a slight chance he just let a killer run free. The thought makes him sick.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
Stiles doesn’t mean to mope around for the next few days, but he does. By the time the next weekend has rolled around his teachers have asked him if he’s okay at least five times a piece. Even some of his classmates are giving him weird looks. Well, weirder looks than usual. No one’s quite been able to figure him out yet and he’s fine letting them think he’s a freak.  
  
Since he let Derek go he hasn’t heard a single peep from him, nor seen him anywhere around town. Stiles has tried to reassure himself he made the right decision, but there’s still this voice in the back of his head that’s telling him he’s an idiot, that he failed, that was too weak to avenge his mother.  
  
He attempts to distract himself with comic books and Halo, but none if it really works. The minute he closes the book or shuts off his XBox, there’s a million things whizzing through his brain and he’s incapable of shutting it all off.  
  
There haven’t been any new animal attacks all week. No new clues, no other leads besides the one he let go. Everything in town has gone eerily quiet. Like the calm before the shit hits the fan. It’s got Stiles on edge and ready to shoot something.  
  
The stringently laid out plan for his Friday night was supposed to include weapons training, specifically with a sword because if he’s honest with himself he still sucks, and maybe watching the new Batman movie for the fiftieth time. Unfortunately what actually happens is he ends up sitting on his bed moping. Some more.  
  
It would be funny how teenage angst he has become if it wasn’t so damn tragic.  
  
When his phone buzzes on the nightstand he jumps nearly a foot off the bed. Then he has to roll his eyes at himself for being so ridiculous. “Real tough hunter there,” he murmers as he picks it up.  
  
 **Unknown:**  Meet at the hospital. Room 102.  
  
It takes him two seconds of pretending to decide whether to go or not before he grabs his jacket and races out of the house.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
The room is empty, which is a massive disappointment. Granted he’s not sure what exactly he was expecting to find. He’s considering settling down to wait when something moves out of the corner of his eye. He turns to look down the hallway and freezes.  
  
Thirteen years peel away layer by layer in the blink of an eye.  
  
 _He’s standing in his hallway as a five year old boy. The floor is cold on his feet and he’s scared. So scared._  
  
Memories once fuzzy finally slide into focus, painting a clear picture of what had happened to him so long ago.  
  
 _There’s a man standing in front of him, blocking his way to the kitchen; blocking the only way to get to his mommy. The man is stroking his chin like he’s thinking about something important. There’s something bad about him and Stiles immediately dislikes him. His eyes are full of hatred._  
  
The same eyes he’s staring back into right this instant.  
  
“You must be Stiles.” The man says.  
  
Stiles shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts. “You’re the one,” he whispers in disbelief.  
  
 _He tries to call out for his parents, but they don’t come for him.  
  
“Mommy! Daddy!” he screams, silently begging for someone to hear him.  
  
The man starts moving towards him, stalking him like a lion. He opens his mouth up really big and giant teeth fill his mouth. He’s a werewolf! Just like from daddy’s book! He tries to be brave, to be a big boy like his daddy has taught him, but he’s really scared. The monster is just about to get him when another crash sounds from the kitchen and he hears his dad screaming. It distracts the bad monster long enough for Stiles to run past him and into the kitchen.  
  
There’s so much red. _  
  
Stiles is going to die. He realizes now this werewolf meant for him to die along with his mother all those years ago. He sincerely doubts he will get away with his life this time. There’s a silver dagger at his ankle and his gun is resting in the waistband of his pants; however, there’s no way he could get to them before his throat gets ripped out.  
  
Yeah. Stiles is going to die.  
  
Then Derek’s suddenly appears behind him and is growling at the other werewolf. Eyes flash blue and he’s pushing Stiles out of the way to get to his attacker. Perhaps Stiles should actually help him, but he’s stunned into silence as he watches the two fight.  
  
The older man slashes at Derek and slices through his arm with startling ferocity. His eyes are glowing a bright red and Stiles realizes this is the Alpha. There is no way Derek is stronger than him, and there is no way Stiles is going to let Derek die for him.  
  
With practiced ease, he pulls the knife from his boot and throws it with perfect aim towards the Alpha’s heart. It sinks in smoothly and he stumbles forward with a loud howl. With one last snarl at Stiles he goes racing from the building.  
  
Derek looks up at him with surprise, then gives him a small nod of approval.  
  
“Come on, I can help you with that wound.” Stiles says and turns towards the doors.  
  
“Werewolf remember.” Derek says from behind him. His footsteps mirror Stiles though so he knows he’s following him.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. Those gashes are from an Alpha. They won’t heal as fast and have the possibility of contracting some weird werewolf disease. I’ve seen it and trust me, it’s not pretty. You guys are big babies when you’re sick.”  
  
There’s a snort behind it and it makes Stiles smile. So the guy has some kind of sense of humor buried underneath all the mysteriousness.  
  
It doesn’t take long before they’re at Deaton’s lab. Stiles was granted a key to the front door (though only to the front door and nothing else. Deaton’s a party pooper) so he lets himself in. Derek seems to be fine with the silence, so Stiles concentrates on his work. It takes the exact right combination of herbs and magic to make a healing poultice for an Alpha wound. Theoretically easy, but it takes a lot of patience and practice to actually do correctly.  
  
When he’s done he applies the paste to Derek’s arm. He flinches in pain, but doesn’t react otherwise and Stiles takes that as his cue to continue. After wrapping several long pieces of gauze around the wound, he steps back and appraises his work. Satisfactory enough.  
  
He turns and begins to clean up the mess he made. Deaton’s a bit of a neat freak and Stiles made the mistake of leaving a mess behind only once. The doctor can be freakishly scary when he wants to be.  
  
“All done. Now, what were you doing there tonight?” he asks, curious.  
  
“I was trying to protect you.”  
  
Not the answer Stiles was expecting. Not at all. He turns around slowly and is punched in the gut by the vulnerable look on Derek’s face. Stiles knows that look. It’s the same one he’s pretty sure he wears when he’s trying to protect his dad. Like someone who has lost everything they love and is trying to protect what little they have left.  
  
“Do you know him? The Alpha?” Stiles asks, confident he already knows the answer.  
  
Derek nods and clenches his jaw. “He’s Peter, my Uncle. I thought he was a vegetable. I had no idea he was the Alpha until a few hours ago.”  
  
“Why did he kill my mother? Why does he want to kill me?”  
  
“I honestly don’t know about your mother. I’m sorry Stiles. Now he’s wiping out anybody that had anything to do with the fire. Including you and your father.”  
  
“If my family did anything to you it was because you did something first. We don’t break the code.” Stiles says, automatically on the defensive.  
  
“You and your father do, your mother did, but not all Argents are the same. Your Aunt Kate is the one that burnt down my house with all but me and my sister inside it. All Peter cares about is that you’re an Argent.” Derek says the words with a calculated tone. Like he’s repeating something he’s said a million times and learned to emotionally distance himself from.  
  
He had no idea about Kate. Had always suspected there was something mysterious about the way she had died and no one had ever spoke about it again. Like it was expected and everyone had done their best to move past it. His father hadn’t even cried. Was morose, but in a weird way Stiles had never been able to piece together. The whole thing makes a whole lot more sense now.  
  
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” he says sincerely.  
  
His phone buzzes in his pocket, effectively ending the conversation. Stiles curses internally, wishing he could hear the words that died on Derek’s lips.  
  
 **Dad:** _We need to talk. Your grandfather is in town._  
  
That’s weird. He hasn’t seen his granddad since before Kate died. As far as he knew his dad and him had a falling out and that was why they never talked. Whatever reason his granddad has for being in town, it probably isn’t a good one.  
  
“Something wrong?” Derek asks.  
  
“No. My granddad just got into town apparently. I need to get home. Are you going to be okay?”  
  
Derek lunges forward and grips Stiles shoulder. “You can’t trust Gerard. Be very careful.”  
  
There’s real concern shining in his eyes and Stiles wonders when they went from being sworn enemies to almost, kind of, allies. It’s nice in an odd sort of way.  
  
“I will. Don’t go confronting Peter by yourself. My dad and I can help you.”  
  
For a second he’s afraid Derek is going to object, but then he removes his arm from Stiles shoulder and nods almost imperceptibly.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
This is a no good, dirty rotten, terrible plan. Stiles realizes this but is unable to tell his feet to stop moving one in front of the other. His dad had told him Gerard was in town because he didn’t think they were handling the situation. Apparently whatever his grandad’s version of handling this is, his dad doesn’t want him to be involved.  
  
Telling Stiles not to go somewhere or do somthing is kind of like talking to a five year old though. He’s going to do the exact opposite. So here he finds himself stealthily following after Gerard and his dad.  
  
They’re going deeper and deeper into the forest until even Stiles’ tracking skills are pushed to the limits. He can barely see to follow after them and the darker it gets the harder it becomes to see where he’s placing his feet. One wrong move and he’ll be found out. The only thing scarier than his dad’s wrath is facing both his dad and grandad’s anger at the same time. Something he’d never like to experience thank you.  
  
It’s at least an hour and a half before they finally begin to slow down. This part of the woods is usually thick with brush, but the leaves are starting to fall and there’s not much cover to be found. Stiles does his best and hunkers down behind a small hill to watch them.  
  
Much to his surprise they’ve caught a stray beta; strung upside down in a trap.  
  
“You need a reminder of how the Argent’s deal with wolves.” Gerard says to his dad. “You’ve gone soft Chris.”  
  
Stiles watches in horror as Gerard unsheathes a sword and swiftly cuts the werewolf in half. The man didn’t even get the chance to scream before his life ended.  
  
An endless stream of blood gushes from his hanging torso onto the forest floor. Even from his concealed position Stiles can smell the scent of death in the air. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but never from somebody that didn’t deserve it. Not from a probable innocent.  
  
“What about the code!” Chris yells, voice full of anger.  
  
Cool as a cucumber Gerard turns and fixes him with a cold stare. “No code. Not anymore.”  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
“So my granddad is batshit crazy.” Stiles says with a sigh as soon as Derek gets in the Jeep.  
  
“Did he hurt you?” Derek asks as he leans forward like he’s going to try and inspect Stiles or something.  
  
Weird.  
  
“No. Why would he hurt me? He’s still my grandad!” Stiles objects as he sits still, letting Derek sniff at him. Over the years Stiles has found that it’s easier to let the friendly werewolves do their thing. Half of their actions are instinctual and pretty harmless. If not a little awkward.  
  
After a hum of satisfaction, Derek leans back in his seat. His eyes are a little extra blue around the edges and his nostrils are inflamed. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he would say Derek just scent marked him, which would be-- perfectly fine actually.  
  
Stiles takes the time to really look at Derek. Besides being one hot mess of an emotionally constipated werewolf, he’s kind of ridiculously attractive. As in, he could be on the cover of GQ hot. Before he can stop himself his brain is wondering what Derek would look like naked. Probably unfairly fucking amazing. Which quickly leads to him thinking about sex and he pushes the abort button on that one because the last thing he needs is having Derek smell how hot and bothered he’s getting. Embarrassing.  
  
“Scott’s going to lure the Alpha to me tonight.” Derek says suddenly and Stiles focus is snapped back to attention.  
  
“I’ll be there. I don’t know about my dad. With Gerard around it’s probably better not to involve him.”  
  
Derek nods and moves to step out of the car.  
  
Before he can think about what he’s doing, Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek’s arm. “You have to be careful, especially tonight. Gerard’s going to be looking for a fight.”  
  
For a brief moment he’s afraid Derek’s going to rip his arm off. Instead he looks at the place they’re connected, then back up at Stiles. There’s an appraising glint in his eye and Stiles isn’t entirely sure what it means, but it feels important somehow. Like when his dad told him things as a kid and he knew there was more behind the words than he could fully comprehend at the time. He hates that feeling actually.  
  
“I’ll be fine.” Derek says eventually before slipping out of the car.  
  
There’s an emptiness that fills the space around him the moment Derek’s gone. It’s unsettling and he fervently does his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
Something’s wrong. Stiles can feel it the moment he steps onto the Hale property. His instincts are screaming at him to turn around and go back to where he came from. He’d told Derek he would help though, and he’s not going to abandon him.  
  
It’s not often he ignores his instincts, and for good reason- each step forward makes his gut turn over with nausea, sweat breaks out on his brow and pin pricks of panic travel up and down his spine. Deaton had told him once that the spark of magic in him can manifest itself at times. Some sort of weird magicky self preservation thing. Would be kind of awesome if Stiles, you know- actually paid attention to it.  
  
When he reaches the threshold of the decaying front door, every bone in his body is telling him to retreat. The tension in the air is palpable and Stiles can barely think for his brain repeatedly yelling ‘danger, danger!’ at him.  
  
Still he presses forward, taking the last step through the dilapidated door and into the house. At first glance it doesn’t seem like anything is out of the ordinary. It’s quiet and there’s nothing to see besides the charred remains of what used to be a happy home.  
  
He’s about to call Scott when he hears a gun go off in the next room; a bright haze of light cutting through the darkness. The sound and consequences of what it could mean makes his stomach roil in dread. What if he’s too late?  
  
With a few bounding steps he’s careening into the next room just in time to see Gerard pointing a rifle in between Derek’s eyes.  
  
“Stop!” Stiles shouts as he draws his pistol and aims for Gerard’s heart.  
  
“You would choose this monster over your own family?” Gerard asks, eyes snapping over to Stiles, but gun remaining firmly in place.  
  
Stiles locks eyes with Derek and he’s surprised to realize the answer is yes. There’s something between them he can’t really explain. They both have craters left in the very essences of their beings from the loved ones that are no longer there to fill it. Somehow it’s comforting knowing he’s not alone in that.  
  
“I still believe in the code and I know you’ve been breaking it. No one would question me if I killed you so I suggest you leave while you can.” Stiles grits his teeth and holds Gerards gaze, showing him there isn’t a hint of weakness to be found.  
  
For a brief moment Stiles thinks he’s actually going to have to shoot his own granddad, but then he lowers his weapon and runs from the house. For the first time in over a minute, Stiles allows himself to take a deep breath, letting the precious oxygen flood his lungs and calm his nerves.  
  
“Derek! Are you ok?” he says as he drops to his knees and starts running his finger over every inch of exposed skin he can find, searching for any wounds. His heart plummets when he finds the lodged bullet in Derek’s left forearm with black sickly veins flowing from it.  
  
“You’re going to have to cut my arm off. Wolfsbane bullet.” Derek grits out, eyes fluttering as if he’s going to lose consciousness.  
  
“Don’t be such a drama queen. Deaton keeps the stuff in his office, we just have to get you there.” Stiles says exasperated.  
  
He doesn’t get a reply as Derek’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he goes limp.  
  
Of fucking course. Leave it to the big bad werewolf to pass out at the most inconvenient time.  
  
“Dude, you really need to lay off the puppy chow,” Stiles whines as he loops both hands under Derek’s armpits and drags him out to the car.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
“Do it.” Derek growls at him, fangs lengthening and eyes glowing a vibrant blue.  
  
So far they’ve tried stuffing his wound with three different kind of wolfsbane and none of them have worked. Stiles is starting to get a little panicky they don’t have it. That he’s actually going to have to cut off Derek’s arm and he’s not entirely sure he has the stomach for that.  
  
He takes out the fourth variant of wolfsbane and grits his teeth as he shoves it into Derek’s wound.  
  
A howl of unadulterated pain reverberates off the walls. Smoke floats up from the crater in Derek’s arm, but nothing changes. If anything it looks like the sickly black lines are getting longer, traveling further and further up his arm. If it doesn’t stop soon...  
  
No. Stiles can’t think about that right now.  
  
“How many more are there?” Derek asks, eyes clouded with pain.  
  
“At least twenty?” Stiles says morosely.  
  
“There’s no time.” Derek wraps a tourniquet around his arms and steadies himself on the table. “I’m going to die if you don’t do this.”  
  
“You can’t die.” Stiles says resolutely. He’s not losing anyone else he cares about. There’s not even time to register that  _yes_  he does have feelings for Derek. He skips right over that into panic and a desperation to not have to cut off his arm.  
  
“Just this last one,” he says helplessly as he shoves another pinch of wolfsbane into the bullethole, blindly praying that for once in his fucking life there’s a little luck on his side. Beyond all expectations it actually works. Derek falls to the ground from the pain, but the black is receding from his arm, the death and decay slowly being siphoned out. In a matter of seconds the healing process is complete and Derek is slowly sitting up.  
  
“Well that was fun.” Derek growls and it makes Stiles throw his head back and laugh. It sounds like something he would say.  
  
“Hello boys.” The sound of Peter’s voice makes his skin crawl and hair stand up on end. The next few minutes pass in a blur, but he’s pretty sure Gerard is there and someone’s hitting him over the head and his world suddenly goes dark.  
  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
Blacking out really sucks. Well, more like the coming too absolutely and completely bites ass because there’s the groggy realization that the reason for the fucking jackhammer in his head is a result of being punched in the face.  
  
A quick assessment of his injuries has him thinking there’s a couple bruised ribs, bloodied nose, twisted ankle and several deep scratches from being dragged around. By the way his shoulders are screaming at him and his wrists feel like they’re on fire, he knows he’s strung up on something and not likely to escape.  
  
With a fuck ton of effort he cracks an eye open.  
  
Granddad?  
  
“What?” is all he manages to croak out. His throat is dry and each syllable feels like it’s being torn from his esophagus.  
  
Gerard stands up and circles around him before reaching up and releasing his chains. Stiles is too weak to hold himself up and he crumples to the floor. It doesn’t feel good and he winces as the pain shoots up his spine and across his already bruised body.  
  
When he’s flipped over there’s no doubt in his mind what’s going to happen next. Regardless, no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t have the energy to fight back as Gerard pulls his fist back and punches him across the face.  
  
It  _hurts_. He’s hoping to pass out again, but glorious relief never comes. Rather he gets to feel every single brutal blow to his stomach, ribs and face. Each new punch brings with it the startling clarity that he’s going to die.  
  
His own granddad is going to kill him because he’s in love with Derek Hale. And holy fuck now is probably the most inappropriate time to realize he has really strong feelings for a werewolf he barely knows- but the thing about getting beat up and facing death is that you can’t really control what flits through your mind.  
  
“Please,” he begs through a bloody and cracked lip. He doesn’t want to die this way. Not at the hands of a family member- no matter how crazy and deranged they are.  
  
Gerard leans down and spits in his face. “You stopped being my grandson when you chose a monster over your family.”  
  
One eye is swollen at this point, Stiles isn’t entirely sure which way is up and there’s three different Gerard’s swimming around his vision. Somehow he still manages to grit out, “you’re the monster.”  
  
It’s the wrong thing to say and he knows it before the words leave his mouth. Stupid non-existent filter. Actually going to get him killed for real this time. Fire lights behind Gerard’s eyes and he lands several more blows and a couple kicks to his torso. Stiles tries to protect himself as much as possible but it’s nearly impossible. He’s too weak.  
  
Story of his life.  
  
Next thing he knows he’s being drug up the basement stairs and outside the back of the house.  _So my brains don’t make a mess in the house,_  he thinks morbidly. Gerard props him up against a tree and takes a few steps back.  
  
“I never wanted it to come to this, but there’s no room for traitors in this family.” he says as he takes aim.  
  
“Gerard!”  
  
Stiles lets his body sags and stops fighting, because that’s his dad’s voice and  _thank fuck_  because he was seconds away from being murdered.  
  
“This has to be done.” Gerard says solemnly.  
  
Stiles watches in horror as his dad pulls the trigger, sending a bullet straight through Gerard’s head. Blood spatters everywhere and Gerard’s lifeless body falls to the ground with a sickening thud. Chris had just killed his own father to protect his only son. Tragic and horrible and for the umpteenth time Stiles wants to know how this is his life. What he did to deserve this hand of cards.  
  
“Come on, let’s get you home.” Chris says, hoisting him up. There’s not even a waiver to his voice.  
  
“Thank you.” Stiles whispers. Because it needs to be said. Because even though it’s his dad, that doesn’t mean Stiles was his automatic choice, they were all family and that couldn’t have been an easy decision.  
  
Chris doesn’t say anything, just gently squeezes the back of his neck. It speaks louder than words though. There was never a choice.  
  


\\\\\\*~*~*///

  
  
When he rounds the corner to the hallway he freezes for a second, unprepared for the sight of a battered and bruised Derek sitting outside his door. Their eyes meet and the flash of red in Derek’s eyes is unmistakable. Alpha power.  
  
Without asking he already knows what’s happened. His knees go weak and tears gather at the corner of his eyes. It’s finally over.  
  
“Peter’s dead.” he says, just needing to hear the words out loud.  
  
Derek pushes up from the wall and moves to stand in front of him. His hands come up to Stiles shoulders and he nods slowly. “He’s gone. I’m the Alpha now.”  
  
Stiles whole body sags in relief. Years of training and hunting and now it’s over. Perhaps not by his own hand, but now his mother can rest in peace. Thirteen years later and justice is finally served. Derek steadies him and lets their foreheads drop together.  
  
“I love you.” Stiles whispers. It’s too early for that kind of omission. Fuck, he doesn’t even known if Derek likes him that way, but he doesn’t care.  
  
Derek gives him a lopsided smile, leans forward and seals their lips together. Stiles sighs into the kiss, everything he thought it would be and more. The holes that have been a part of him for so long feel a little less raw around the edges.  
  
It’s more chaste than he would have expected, lips moving slowly together, and just enough tongue to be a tease. When they break apart Stiles can’t help but chuckle a bit. “We’re so fucked up.”  
  
“Stop talking.” Derek says in between placing kisses on his neck.  
  
He can do that.  
  
Just this once though.  
  


**END**

 


End file.
